Fatherly Conundrums
by ProfessorElk
Summary: Set after my story Superman Soup with general Season 10 spoilers: "The Admiral's expression was steely. 'I don't have a son. That relationship stopped the day you killed your mother.'"
1. Chapter 1

**Fatherly Conundrums**

By ProfessorElk

_Disclaimer_: The NCIS characters mentioned below are not mine and no profit has been made in the writing or posting of this story.

_Summary_: Sequel to my story _Superman Soup_: "The Admiral's expression was steely. 'I don't have a son. That relationship stopped the day you killed your mother.'"

_Spoilers_: Set after my story _Superman Soup_. It is not necessary to have read _Superman Soup_ prior to reading _Fatherly Conundrums_, although it will help to clarify this story. General spoilers for NCIS Season 10, specifically 10x11 "Shabbat Shalom" and 10x12 "Shiva."

* * *

**Chapter 1**

He started without fully opening his eyes, brows drawing together as he tried to discern whether or not he had fallen asleep. Cracking one eye open before the other, the room he was in was still bathed in the same muted light as he remembered. He closed his mouth, flexing his jaw as he did so to rid it of the stiffness. His tongue instantly stuck to the roof of his mouth, the moisture from one penetrating the dryness of the other. Definitely fell asleep, then, with his mouth open. Making clacking noises while working his jaw, his tongue slowly rewetting his mouth, he rotated his neck, wincing at its rigidity from remaining in one position for too long of time. Massaging it gently with his fingers, he noted that it would feel strained for the remainder of the day. Rotating his neck once more to try to alleviate any remaining discomfort, he grimaced when his neck gave a resounding pop. It certainly was not supposed to do that. A headache was beginning to make itself known and he groaned, putting his head in his hands and using his fingers to massage his forehead.

"Long night?" He jumped at the sound of the new voice, lifting his head from its perch in surprise.

Rotating his chair around with a gentle nudge from his foot, he turned to face the theater chairs behind him. The glow from the big screen in the front of the room and the tiny buttons nestled in the computer station illuminated the figure of the person sitting down in one of the chairs, watching him intently. "Hey Boss," he greeted tiredly. "When did you get here?"

Instead of answering, the man asked, "You get any sleep at all besides now?"

He flushed, embarrassed. "No, I wanted to get this done." Glancing at his watch, he added, "I think I got a couple of hours. I'll be okay."

Gibbs stood up without a word, reaching behind him to pick up a Styrofoam cup from the black cup holder connected to the arm of the chair. Walking over to the agent, Gibbs handed the cup to him, which he reached for with outstretched hands. The heat permeated from the cup into his hands, warming them. He closed his eyes as he inhaled the tantalizing aroma through his nose, letting the smell of fresh coffee wash over him and wipe away any tiredness that still resided.

Remembering himself, his eyes popped open to see his boss smirking lightly, though there was concern behind the man's mirth. "Are you done, with this?" Gibbs asked, gesturing to the open computer screen. "Or do I need to tell Director Craig to set up a permanent bed in MTAC?"

He took a sip from his coffee cup, surprised and touched, though he should have known by now, that Gibbs had ordered his coffee just the way he liked it. Transferring the cup to his right hand, he turned back to the computer keyboard and monitor, his left hand flying over the keys and eyes jumping to different parts of the screen, rapidly scanning the data. Letting out a sigh and using his free hand to massage his forehead, he answered, "Not yet. I still don't have enough information to make this work."

"Bring it up on the screen," Gibbs instructed. With a few clicks of the keys, the image appeared on the giant screen in the front of the room, the endless rows of numbers and letters filling the entire black page. The green font color of the unreadable text cast an eerie glow on Gibbs, bathing his skin in an olive, extraterrestrial light.

"What am I looking at, McGee?" Gibbs asked, snapping him out of his reverie.

"It's an algorithm," he answered tiredly. "I'm using the information we have as variables in the formula…"

"In English, McGee," Gibbs interrupted, throwing him an incredulous look.

He sighed, his free hand moving from his forehead to the back of his neck to massage the stiffness. "It's a math equation," he began again. "To find Bodnar."

Gibbs' head snapped in his direction, the man's interest piqued. "You're using math to find Bodnar?" Gibbs' voice, while calm, held an undertone of hope.

"I'm trying to, at least," he clarified. "I heard about the FBI doing something similar once and I thought it might work for us."

"And?" Gibbs asked, leadingly.

"And I still don't have enough information," he answered, hand gesturing to the screen. "I was running a test last night, but the results are saying that there still isn't enough information to go off of."

"What information are you using?"

He closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to dispel the headache, before taking a sip of coffee and reopening his eyes. "I've gone through all the files we have on Bodnar, who his contacts are, friends, and places where he would hide out. I asked Fornell for the same from the FBI and Gavriela Adel gave me everything that she's been able to get for the CIA. Officer Ben – Gidon sent me a few files, but there wasn't much there. He said he'd send more when he can. I've gone through everything and entered it into the computer as variables, or parts of the math equation, and hopefully when I get everything put in, it'll be able to tell me the people Bodnar would be likely to go to for help, or areas where he'd feel comfortable hiding out."

"A math problem can tell you all that?" Gibbs' eyebrow quirked in disbelief.

He smiled lightly. "That's what I'm hoping for."

"What more do you need?" Gibbs questioned, tone much more businesslike than before.

He sighed lightly. "Just more variables. I have too few right now, and it's throwing off the results. I need files from at least one more agency, or maybe two, and then I can try to run the formula through the computer again."

Gibb stared at the large screen, though the man was hardly studying the equation. He could see his boss was thinking, mulling over a plan, and he waited patiently in silence, emptying his coffee cup as he did so. Seeming to have come to a conclusion, Gibbs reached into his pocket, procured his phone, and flipped it open, pressing some buttons with audible beeps. Holding the device up to his ear, he began without preamble, "I need you to get Bodnar's file from the DoD, OIA, DCHC, JIC, and every other alphabet agency you can think of." Gibbs waited in silence for a moment, the person on the other line obviously speaking. "McGee thinks he can find Bodnar." He shut his phone with a click, cutting off the conversation.

Turning to his agent, Gibbs answered the unspoken question, "Craig's going to get some more files for you. Go take a shower, get cleaned up, then get over to the Office of Naval Intelligence and see what they have for files."

He paled, eyes widening. "The Office of Naval Intelligence?" His voice squeaked. "Can't I just call them for it?"

Gibbs gave him a hard look. "You have any contacts over there?"

"No," he managed.

"Yah think they're going to hand over those files just 'cuz you ask nicely over the phone? Get over there, wave your badge around, and get those files," Gibbs ordered, face showing disbelief that he was having such a conversation with his agent.

"Won't Director Craig call them too when he's getting the information from the other agencies?" he tried.

"No, because you'll already have them." Gibbs gave him a hard look, indicating that the conversation had ended.

He stared at the older man blankly, mind racing to come up with an excuse that would prevent his visit to the Office of Naval Intelligence. Unconsciously, his hand gripped the empty coffee cup, the Styrofoam cracking with a soft pop.

"Now, McGee!" Gibbs instructed, annoyed and tone brokering no argument.

He started, scrambling to turn back to the computer monitor table to collect all the files and paperwork he had spread across the work area. Shoving loose leafs into manila folders, some crinkling with the unrestrained pressure, he tucked everything under his arm and hurried to the door. With a quick, "On it, Boss," called over his shoulder, the door shut behind him preventing him from seeing the fond smirk on his mentor's face as the man looked at the projector screen with wonder.

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_**a/n: Thank you so very much for taking the time to read my story. I appreciate it very, very much. The next chapter will be up shortly. A confrontation is in store!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Fatherly Conundrums**

By ProfessorElk

_Disclaimer_: The NCIS characters mentioned below are not mine and no profit has been made in the writing or posting of this story.

_Summary_: Sequel to my story _Superman Soup_: "The Admiral's expression was steely. 'I don't have a son. That relationship stopped the day you killed your mother.'"

_Spoilers_: Set after my story _Superman Soup_. It is not necessary to have read _Superman Soup_ prior to reading _Fatherly Conundrums_, although it will help to clarify this story. General spoilers for NCIS Season 10, specifically 10x11 "Shabbat Shalom" and 10x12 "Shiva."

* * *

**Chapter 2**

The pale brown-gray bricks and impressive amount of glass made the building have an air of strength, power, and might. Five flags waved in the breeze above his head, reminding him of all the authority and influence that was housed in the structure. It was so different from his own building with the cheery rust red bricks, the simple entry, the guards that knew him by name and always greeted him with a warm welcome. This place felt so cold, so impersonal, so intimidating.

He visibly shook his head to rid himself of such thoughts. _You're not thinking that way, McGee. A building can't be intimidating. The _people _can't be intimidating. You're not a probie anymore. You're an experienced special agent. Now go act like one._

Squaring his shoulders and taking a fortifying breath, he proceeded through the glass doors, nodding to a security guard who gave him a questioning look. He walked up to the front desk, the woman in a naval suit looking up from her computer screen as she felt his hovering presence. Smiling politely, she asked, "May I help you, sir?"

"Agent McGee, NCIS," he said in way of greeting, flashing his badge and shield and holding it out long enough so she could read it. "I need to speak with the officer in charge of foreign intelligence, specifically Israel. My team is working a case and needs some files."

"Do you have an appointment?" the woman asked, gaze turned back to her computer, fingers flying over her keyboard as she checked schedules.

"Um, no. Do I need one?" The confidence he had earlier tried to instill within himself was quickly disappearing. The frowning gaze the woman was giving him over the rim of her glasses was not helping his failing self-assurance.

"Let me call up there," she acquiesced begrudgingly. "Usually they don't accept walk-ins and schedules might be filled."

He mumbled his thanks as she picked up the landline, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear as she dialed the number. She waited a few moments as the phone rang, unconsciously sitting up straighter in her chair when someone picked up on the other line. "Hi Emmy, its Sheila from downstairs. Is Captain Reynolds in yet? Oh, he is? Okay. I have a NCIS agent down here that says he needs to talk to the captain. Does he have a minute?"

She gestured for his badge, which he promptly handed to her. "Yeah, NCIS Special Agent Timothy McGee…Yup. Spelled the same and everything. Okay, thanks hun, I'll hold."

Her gaze swept the lobby, never stopping to rest on him while she waited for the woman on the other end of the line to speak. His own eyes flitted across the space, taking in the shiny tiled floors, the other clerks working at the front desk, all either on the phone or typing furiously at their computer stations. There were multiple security guards lined along the metal detector, one giving directions to a woman who was emptying her pockets and taking off her jewelry, another using a hand-held detector on a man, gesturing to the man's pocket, most likely instructing him to empty it. The guard he had greeted with a gaze before was still watching him intently, hand nonchalantly resting against his hip, right above his gun holster.

"Okay, thanks Emmy. I'll send him right up." She hung up the phone with an audible clack, passed him a visitor's badge, and peered over the rims of her glasses once more as she addressed him. "Captain Reynolds just got in and his next meeting is in fifteen minutes. He's agreed to see you, so you better hurry."

"Hey Doug!" the clerk called. The security guard that had been watching him carefully walked over. "Doug, this is Agent Timothy McGee, NCIS. He needs to get to Captain Reynolds' office on the fourth floor. Make sure he gets there, all right?"

"Sure thing, Miss Sheila," the man answered. Gesturing with his arm, the guard instructed, "This way, sir, through the security and then to the elevators."

He walked through the scanners without a problem, Doug following closely behind. The two proceeded to the elevators in awkward silence, him pressing the button to call the lift and Doug pressing the bottom on the inside of the machine to take them to the correct floor. The metal doors of the elevator closed, trapping the two together. He shifted uncomfortably as he watched the numbers above the door increase as they climbed each floor. He contemplated breaking the silence and making small talk, but one glance to the man next to him, permanent frown etched into his face, made him change his mind and opt to remain silent. Mercifully, the elevator car came to a halt, a bing announcing their arrival on the fourth floor.

Both exited the car, Doug leading the way. "It's this way, sir" he said, motioning with his arm to the right.

They approached another secretary desk, this one much smaller than the one downstairs. A different woman wearing a naval dress uniform was situated behind the desk, typing on her computer. Hearing them approach, she looked up and gave them a polite smile. "Agent McGee?"

"Yes," he answered, giving her a friendly half-smile.

She stood up and walked around the desk. "Captain Reynolds was able to fit you in. He's expecting you, so go right in. His office is at the end of the hall. He likes to keep his door open when he's there, so you won't have any trouble finding it."

He thanked her quietly, nodded politely to Doug, and made his way down the hallway to Captain Reynolds' office. He casually read the nameplates on the doors as he walked by, not really committing the information to memory. He came upon the last room along the hall, the door wide open, just as the secretary had indicated. Taking a fortifying breath, he knocked on the open door to announce his arrival, and entered.

A man similar in age to himself was placing papers and folders into his briefcase and looked up from what he was doing at the knock. "Agent McGee," he greeted, "Come in."

"Sorry about the mess," the captain apologized, glancing at the papers strewn across his desk. "What can I do for you, Agent McGee? Lieutenant Jacobs said it was something to do with information on Israel?"

He sat down in one of the chairs in front of the captain's desk, voice retaining civility but hardening with authority. "My team is leading an investigation against Ilan Bodnar, who murdered three people two months ago when he was in Washington, D.C. We need all the files and information you have on him to help us with our search."

Captain Reynolds' face contorted from surprise to confusion. "That's ridiculous! Mossad Deputy Director Bodnar would never kill anyone, at least without just cause."

A slight edge of anger crept into his voice when he retorted, "Is firing rounds into a residential house where a family was sitting down to dinner just cause, Captain?"

The captain blanched. "Ilan did that?"

"He put out the hit," he answered. Calming slightly, he asked, "Do you know Ilan Bodnar well?"

"Just as much as anyone could know who they worked with. We ran an operation together a year or so ago. You really think he did this?"

He nodded. "We know he did. We just need to find him. Can you get me his file?"

"Yeah, sure." The captain sounded dazed. "Let me just run a search for you." He turned to his computer and began to type. They waited in silence for a moment, his eyes scanning the office space as the captain searched. There were pictures on the wall, an older man and Reynolds in dress whites standing next to each other at a graduation ceremony, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, smiling brightly at the camera. A sound from the computer drew his attention away from the wall, as he quirked an eyebrow in silent questioning.

"It looks like I don't have high enough clearance to get that kind of information." Reynolds chewed on his bottom lip in contemplation. "My superior would, though. He's usually in by now, so let's go see if he has a minute."

They both stood up, Reynolds grabbing his briefcase as he made his way out the door, the federal agent right behind him. The pair walked through the hallway until they were almost back in the lobby, stopping at the door of the biggest office of the floor. Knocking first, Reynolds called out, "Admiral? It's Captain Reynolds, sir. I need your access to a file. Do you have a minute?"

The gruff, muted affirmative spurred Reynolds to begin to open the door, but caused him to stop abruptly from following. He knew that voice, and one glance to the nameplate on the door confirmed he was correct. There was no way to avoid it, though. No way out of a confrontation nearly a decade in the making. The door was already open to Admiral John McGee's office, and the man himself was staring at him with a stone cold expression on his face.

Oblivious to the tension, Captain Reynolds began, "Admiral, this is Special Agent McGee from NCIS. His team is investigating Ilan Bodnar and wants access to our files. I don't have high enough clearance to get it for him…" He was cut off by the ringtone of his phone.

"Excuse me, sir," he stated, as he answered the call. "Yes Lieutenant Jacobs? I'm with the Admiral. Right now? What time is it? Tell them I'll be there in a minute. Thanks Emmy."

The admiral continued the hard look during the phone conversation, to which he returned without flinching. Neither one looked away from each other when Reynolds ended his conversation and addressed them. "That was my morning meeting, sir. They need me so they can get started."

"Go on then, son," the admiral replied without breaking the gaze.

"Yes, sir." Reynolds was almost to the door when he stopped and turned around. "I couldn't help but notice that you both have the same last name. Any relation?"

"No," the admiral answered quickly. Reynolds did not notice the stricken look on his face, but his father did. "I don't have a son."

"Right." Reynolds looked uncomfortable, beginning to sense the strain in the room. "It's a common enough last name, I guess. I'll see you later, sir."

He closed the door softly behind him, leaving the two men alone. The admiral looked away first, turning to his computer and quickly began to type.

As his father typed, he walked over to the window behind the Admiral's desk. The view was spectacular. The office was situated high enough to be able to look over the Anacostia, and the clear day made the water sparkle under the sunlight. He easily found the Barry docked in the naval yard, and if he squinted, he could make out the red bricks of NCIS headquarters. Always so physically close to one another, yet so, so far away.

The whirl of the printer caused him to glance over to the Admiral, who had stopped typing, but did not turn around. The printer emitted a final beep as the last page was printed. His father said nothing, just remained fixated to the computer screen.

He walked over to the printer situated against the wall and picked up the sheets, flipping through them quickly, scanning the information. Finding that it included everything that he needed, he folded the papers and tucked them within the inside pocket of his coat. He proceeded to the door, fingers almost wrapped around the knob, when he paused.

Without turning around, shoulders shaking with suppressed emotion, he asked, "You really have nothing to say to me?"

"I don't have time for this," was the cold reply.

He spun around on the heel of his shoe, blue-green eyes meeting the matching pair across the room. "When have you ever, _Dad_? When Sarah had chickenpox, when Mom first learned she was sick, any of my graduations, when that guy was going after Penny? When NCIS blew up?"

The Admiral's eyes narrowed. "You got your damn papers. You're dismissed."

"Did you even think of me?" He dreaded the answer, but was unable _not_ to ask. "You must have seen the smoke, at least, from your window. Maybe even felt the vibrations from the blast. Did you even once think that your son might be in that building?"

The Admiral's expression was steely. "I don't have a son. That relationship stopped the day you killed your mother."

The words cut him deeply, and he could no longer hold on to the mask he was trying so desperately to hide his emotions behind. "You know I did what Mom wanted." His voice shook. "She didn't want to be forced to live that way."

"So you forced her not to live at all," his father replied, twisting the allegorical knife in his heart, tone getting harder without rising in volume. "You are a disgrace to McGee name. You're a selfish bastard who rather have had his mother killed than take care of her. She was your own damn mother! You turned your back on this family, so don't you dare come into this office and think you can try to manipulate what really happened. You're not a hero here. You're a sick, perverted excuse of a man. You don't deserve to be called anyone's son. Get out."

He could feel the backs of his eyes stinging, but refused to give the Admiral the satisfaction of seeing him lose his composure anymore than he already had. He cleared his throat, trying to loosen the constricted feeling. He turned around to leave, hand hovering above the knob once more, but he made no indication to move farther. His voice was dead, but professional when he asked as an afterthought, "Captain Reynolds seemed close to Bodnar. What can you say about him?"

"He's the son I never had, the kind of man any father would be proud to call his own. Hardworking, respectful, loyal." There was a pause. "Someone to bring home at Christmas," the man added.

He flinched, thinking of his own past Christmas alone in an empty apartment watching the specials on television, leftover Chinese his only option because all of the fast food places were closed.

"You were at his graduation," he murmured, realizing now that the man in the graduation photo on Reynolds' wall was none other than his father.

The Admiral ignored him, instead vowing, "You come after him, you blame him at all for those deaths, you come after me. You understand?"

Not trusting his voice, he simple nodded.

"You ever want something from ONI again, call. We don't have time to pander to navy cops. Now get out."

His hand finally wrapped around the door knob, pulling the door open forcibly. He was gone before he could hear it slam closed behind him.

* * *

_**a/n: A big 'THANK YOU!' is due to all who have taken the time to read my story, and especially to all who left a review. I so greatly enjoy reading your responses, and your comments put a smile on my face. The next chapter, the epilogue, will be posted soon.**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Fatherly Conundrums**

By ProfessorElk

_Disclaimer_: The NCIS characters mentioned below are not mine and no profit has been made in the writing or posting of this story.

_Summary_: Sequel to my story _Superman Soup_: "The Admiral's expression was steely. 'I don't have a son. That relationship stopped the day you killed your mother.'"

_Spoilers_: Set after my story _Superman Soup_. It is not necessary to have read _Superman Soup_ prior to reading _Fatherly Conundrums_, although it will help to clarify this story. General spoilers for NCIS Season 10, specifically 10x11 "Shabbat Shalom" and 10x12 "Shiva."

* * *

**Chapter 3**

The breeze was cool against his face, and he regretted leaving his heavier coat inside as the night air chilled him, easily penetrating his lighter jacket. The calendar might have reported it as being spring, yet the warmth associated with the season had yet to defrost the discomfort of winter. _The weather is not the only thing that is still icy._

He clenched the small stones in his hand, comforted by their solidity and the release they could give him. Transferring one to his open palm, he tossed the stone up in the air before catching it with the same hand, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger, and flicking his wrist, releasing the stone as he did so. He watched it skip across the water seven times before sinking into the Anacostia, the twinkling lights strung along the gunwale of the Barry illuminating his endeavor.

A presence sidled up alongside him, posture mirroring his own, leg casually braced against the black metal posts lining the waterway. He smirked slightly to himself, knowing who was there without even turning around.

"I'm getting better," he announced.

The figure said nothing, but stooped down, picked up his own stone, tightened his fingers around the object as he propelled it forward with a sideways motion. The luminosity from the ship cast a yellow glow on the water as the pair watched the stone skip eleven times before finally giving into gravity with an audible splash.

"Showoff," he muttered to himself, though the muted snort of laughter from his companion told him that the comment had been heard.

They remained like that for an indiscernible amount of time, silently watching the boats sail past, lights from the cabin interiors brightening the dark water, peals of laughter from the inhabitants breaking the silence. A jogger ran by, out for a late night run, though neither turned around to watch him go, transfixed to the view of the water. He liked this, the feeling of being in one's company without having the need to converse, to needlessly fill the space with endless chatter. Usually lulls in conversation made him uncomfortable and he would desperately try to fill the void with mindless babble. However, too many words had been spoken for one day. Now was the time for quiet.

"How's it coming, McGee?" Gibbs asked without turning to look at him, the beauty of the silence broken.

He let out a puff of a sigh as he reluctantly began his report. "Director Craig's files came through earlier this afternoon. Along with the files I got this morning, I was able to put in more variables to the equation. It's running now through the computer, so all we have to do is wait for the results."

"I'm talking about your dad, McGee. The Admiral."

"Oh. Yah, Dad." He paused, unsure of how to answer. His gaze never wavered from the water, though he was no longer seeing it. Instead images of an office and a steely admiral came to mind.

Gibbs prodded, breaking his reverie. "Well?"

He sighed tiredly. "He's one conundrum I'll never solve." Wondering aloud after a moment of silence, he asked, "You knew I'd have to talk to him, didn't you? You made me go so that we'd have to talk?"

He ventured a gaze, though the expression on his boss' face was as guarded as ever as Gibbs met his eyes. "He's your dad, McGee. You'd have to talk to him someday."

That made him laugh, though there was no humor behind his mirth, and turn back to the river blackened by night. "He's the Admiral. No one talks to him, ever. He takes care of all the talking on his own."

"What _can_ I say? I did something he thinks is unforgivable. We could argue back and forth forever," he choked out a somber huff. "We probably are. It's less painful for Penny, Sarah, for everyone if we don't. He won't ever let it go, so I…"

He stopped, unable to continue.

"Have to be the better person," Gibbs finished for him.

He smiled tightly at the summation, biting his bottom lip to reign in his emotions. He took another stone in his empty hand and threw it out across the water, no longer attempting to make it skip. It made a noisy splash

"You only get one dad, Tim," Gibbs tried, throwing him a look he caught in his peripheral.

He could feel Gibbs' eyes on him as he mulled over the man's words, weighing the validity against the truths he had come to know. "Yah, you do," he finally agreed, casually glancing at Gibbs. He waited until blue-green eyes were locked with pale blue. "And sometimes you're lucky enough to pick who he is."

He broke eye contact, throwing the last stone into the harbor, before tucking his empty hands into the pockets of his coat. He could feel the fond smile on his companion's face without even seeing it. Enough words had been spoken for the day. Now was finally the time for peaceful silence.

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**_a/n: Thank you to all who have followed this story from start to finish and especially to those who were kind enough to offer their feedback. I cannot begin to describe the joy of logging on and seeing how many people read my stories from all over the world. To know that so many people worldwide enjoyed this story is both humbling and amazing. Thank you for the support!_**


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